Fire and Mud: a GoT Parody
by Shannon175
Summary: Viserys Targaryen is about to seal his destiny with his sister Daenerys and the great Dothraki warrior Khal Drogo... Until the tables turn dramatically, leaving Daenerys to storm King's Landing with her newly acquired Dothraki army and three dragons while Viserys gets to know his new "friend" Khal Drogo... and not the way he dreamed he would. Parody of GRRM's works. Reviews please.
1. Royal Inspsection

Khal Drogo sat atop his horse outside the entrance to Master Illyrio's home, waiting. Surrounding him were his khalasar, also horseback and trotting in circles impatiently.  
>And inside Illyrio's palace, Daenerys waited for her brother to arrive, fiddling nervously with the translucent gown Viserys had given her.<br>Illyrio stood nearby, his broad gut covering half of the sunlight shining in from the doorway.  
>"Nervous, princess?" he asked gently.<br>"Yes," she said quietly.  
>"Good," a voice said from behind her. "Lets hope that doesn't put him off you, that's all."<br>She turned as Viserys entered, his silver blond hair shining in the sun, identical to hers. He looked her up and down critically and smiled in approval, making her skin crawl. Only moments ago he had been inspecting her like a slab of meat for sale, because as far as he was concerned, she was. She was fair trade for an army of barbarians - but at least they had braids in their hair, Viserys has told her enthusiastically. That meant they were good at fighting, he said. _Over what_, Dany wondered drily, _a hairbrush_?  
>Khal Drogo looked over at Dany as Viserys nudged her towards him and she stared up at him in terror.<br>He examined her briefly, looking her up and down, same as Viserys has just a moment previously. As far as Dany could tell, he didn't look impressed.  
>Khal Drogo gazed down at the girl being presented to him and merely shrugged internally. <em>Meh<em>. He turned to face the man who had beckoned her to his direction and raised an eyebrow in intrigue.  
>Viserys took this as a good sign and grinned eagerly at Illyrio, who suddenly looked worried.<br>"Greetings, Khal Drogo!" called Viserys cheerfully.  
>Drogo looked at him and, with much deliberation, smoothed down his hair.<br>"I am Viserys Targaryen, first of my name," he faltered as Drogo approached with his horse, "um, rightful heir and protector of the Seven Kingdoms..." the Khal circled Viserys, examining him avidly, "er, here to present to you my sister, Princess Daenerys..." he trailed off bemusedly as Khal Drogo stroked a lock of his hair.  
>Dany watched the whole spectacle with a tiny smile.<br>Viserys swallowed carefully.  
>The Khal grunted to himself and suddenly shot off for the desert, his khalasar at his heels.<br>"Wha-what was that? What about the betrothal?" he squeaked.  
>"That was the betrothal, your grace," Illyrio explained patiently.<br>"But... but Daenerys! What did he think? Did he like her?"  
>"I rather think he liked you better, brother," Dany said sweetly.<br>Viserys glanced at Illyrio to clarify and snorted in disbelief before looking a tiny bit scared.


	2. A Song of Kings and Hilariousness

The newly crowned King Joffrey Baratheon of Westeros sat upon the Iron Throne with a smug smirk as his mother stood by his side, looking rather more cheerful than usual. Her husband had just died. This was not unexpected. He was a glutton and a drunk: his liver and stomach had unanimously decided to commit treason once the first opportunity arose, before either of them exploded, and the queen had been of a similar mind ever since Joffrey had been born.

As it turned out, none of the above had to do a single thing.

Robert Baratheon had been with his court shortly before the tragic accident, where they had been discussing various matters with his newly appointed Hand, Eddard Stark, when Varys arrived twenty minutes later than usual.

"You're late," King Robert snapped. "What's your excuse this time? One of your little birds shit on you?"

"Hopefully not this time, your grace," Varys said apologetically. "I have news of the Targaryens. They have formed a rather unusual alliance with one Khal Drogo of the Dothraki tribes."

"You told me they were planning this already," he said sharply. "What of it?"

"The arrangement... did not go as foreseen."

"What? Oh," he said dully, holding a hand over his eyes, "he's got her up the duff already, hasn't he? They have no standards, these people."

"Far from it, your grace."

"Eh? What do you mean? Speak up!"

Varys paused and decided for the sake of the fragile minds of the court to approach the king and whisper in his ear instead.

King Robert listened carefully, one eyebrow raised.

Once the story was told, the room was silent.

Then King Robert started laughing.

And he didn't stop laughing, even when his heaves turned to gasps, then to hoarse whispers, then finally to trapped wind escaping as the court quickly called for Maester Pycelle and two strong men trained specifically for the task of carrying fat men long distances at the behest of a foresighted Littlefinger.

One day later, Joffrey had been crowned king and was currently executing people for very little reason under supervision from the queen regent, who paid him very little attention.

"And why, pray tell," asked Joff patronisingly, "did the lyrics of said song contain only two semi-intelligible syllables and a strangled cough?"

"'Cuz the king laughed himself to death, sire," the minstrel muttered.

"Do you think this is suitable conduct on the days following your beloved king's death?"

"It is compared to the song we wrote about the Beggar King," he muttered.

"Oh, is it? Tell me," he said in an amused tone. "Did you write a song about me yet?"

"No, do you want me to? I have a great many songs pre-written, your grace, they need only your grace's name in the blank spaces and a word that rhymes with it—"

"Ridiculous nonsense," Cersei interrupted. "Ser Ilyn, if you would."

"About these songs first—" Joffrey cut in.

"I wouldn't advise humouring the convicted traitor, Joffrey," she said coldly.

Ser Ilyn Payne raised his sword high and brought it down on the man's head before he had to chance to bow it.

"I would have liked to hear the song about the Beggar King first," Joffrey said sourly.

"He has them written down, he said so himself. Next victim—er, subject, please."

As the next victim-er-subject emerged, Cersei let her mind wander to Jaime, who was speaking with their father before practise for the upcoming tourneys the king had spent so long organising. She was looking forward to seeing him swordfight. He looked good sword fighting. He looked good doing anything, really. Even picking his nose, which Cersei only found out through Joffrey and Tommen doing it, the only thing that made her children less perfect than him. Jaime would never pick his nose, but seeing the boys doing it with their noses being perfectly identical to his put her off spending time with him regardless.

She could do that all she liked now, she realised. Now that she finally had the room to herself, Jaime could come in as much as he wanted. The thought made her tingle.

She had plotted her husband's death ever since Jon Arryn had snuffed it – or been snuffed out, she thought triumphantly. The man had been interfering. The man was always interfering. Fine, maybe his suspicions about her spending nights – and often afternoons – with her twin brother while the king hunted for things to stab might have been true that time. But she didn't have to accuse the kids of being bastards. Even if they were, technically. But at least they were pretty. She had seen Robert's off shoots before. They were ugly as sin.

A severed head struck her on the shin hard and she yelped in surprise.

"Apologies, Mother, Ser Ilyn meant to send it the other way," Joffrey said quickly.

Ser Ilyn shrugged apologetically.

Cersei sighed and kicked it away. It was going to be a long day.

Stark sauntered in as the severed head was collected sheepishly by Payne. "Your grace," he bowed to Joffrey. "My queen."

"Yes, Lord Hand?" she said loathsomely. She decided she would appoint Jaime as the Hand of the King someday, but she never got around to it what with the fat king's burial coming up. She didn't like Eddard Stark. He was too honourable. It made him look pigheaded.

"I would like to beg your permission to resign my post as Hand of the King."

Cersei paused. This was going easier than she thought it would. "Why would you ever want to do that, Lord Stark?" she asked sweetly.

"I must return to my son, Brandon," he said courteously. "His life was threatened, I must tend to him and my wife Catelyn. I'm sure you understand, your grace."

She nodded. She supposed she did. "I wouldn't have been able to cope if one of my children had befallen such a fate." _Particularly considering Jaime had pushed him, _she reflected. "I will grant you this resignation, with the king's permission, of course."

Eddard looked towards Joffrey half-heartedly. She could see the hope fading from his eyes fast. She couldn't blame him.

Joffrey glanced at him in disdain. "What of the Lady Sansa?" he asked mildly.

Eddard gulped.

Cersei smiled. He didn't want her to marry him. It had all been Robert's idea really, Stark had just gone along with it to shut him up. _Much like how I spent the past years_, she thought. Except she did it because she knew he would die soon. Ned did it because he was a pushover.

"He thinks it would be wise to end the engagement, your grace," Cersei supplied with a smirk. "Mayhaps we shall find you a more suitable match."

"More suitable? What do you mean, your grace?" Stark asked with a frown.

"Well, perhaps Sansa is not such suitable company for the king considering her sister's behavioural tendencies," she said spitefully, her eyes flitting briefly to Joffrey's ruined arm where the little witch's direwolf had got him.

Joff cradled it in remembrance.

"The direwolves have been dealt with, you grace. They will not harm the king again," he said slightly indignantly. "As for Arya, she will be coming with me. Sansa has plenty of good friends here, she will no longer need her little sister around."

"As you say, but we have yet to get to know Sansa fully," the queen pointed out. "Her courtesy has served her well, but it is only a matter of time before her true self emerges – whatever that may be."

"Hush, Mother," Joffrey said, to her surprise. "Sansa shall stay here as planned. Lord Stark may leave for Winterfell with Arya and his men."

"Are your sure? I'm told Margaery Tyrell is yet to be wed—"

"I do not care. Sansa is to be my queen."

Cersei scowled. She despised Sansa Stark, the simpering little snot. Not an ounce of character in her. The day she spent quality time with her willingly would be the day hell froze over. At least then there would be something interesting to talk about.

"As you please, your grace," Stark said with a bow. "Sansa shall remain here with you. May I be excused to say my goodbyes?"

"Of course, my lord," Joffrey said amiably. "Safe journey. Be sure to return for the wedding, we will send you an invite, of course."

"I'm afraid there will no longer be a wedding to invite us to, your grace."

Cersei turned her head to the entrance.

Catelyn Tully stood at the doorway, Lord Baelish at her side.


	3. Fire and Mud, and a Terrible Reader

A raven landed on the shoulder of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen as she stood in the centre of the Dothraki campsite. The khalasar train had halted for the evening and were setting up camp as an exhausted raven finally caught up with them and collapsed on Dany, almost dead.

She had just disentangled the message from the bird's leg when Jorah Mormont arrived at a sprint and snatched the letter from her hand.

"Sir Jorah?" she asked questioningly.

"Apologies, princess, I have been expecting this letter for some time," he said quickly, unrolling the letter hastily.

Dany shrugged and turned to glance around for her brother. "Dark wings, dark words," she muttered. "Isn't that what they say?"

"Not so on this occasion," he replied, "at least not for us. King Robert Baratheon is dead. His son is ruling in his place."

"Excellent," she said in surprise. "What did he die of?"

"Over-excessive humour." He shrugged in reply to Dany's confused look. "Probably a heart attack."

"Probably," she agreed.

He stashed the letter away hurriedly, before Dany could ask for it. She didn't have to. She knew he wouldn't give it over. It had been like this since the wedding: Jorah sending and receiving letters by raven, all unbeknownst to Viserys and the others – all except for Dany. She supposed he figured no one would bother remembering about it what with the wedding excitement, but Dany did. She had a broad attention span. That and not having the duties of Khaleesi made her a lot more bored than usual and she had taken to nosing through everyone's possessions while Viserys was, well, _occupied_.

She looked up suddenly at a flash of silver in her peripheral vision. Viserys was approaching swiftly, wearing his usual attire and bearing a slight limp.

"Good morning, Viserys," Dany greeted him cheerfully. "Jorah brings news from Westeros. The Usurper is dead."

His narrow face brightened. "Excellent! Our throne awaits!" Then his face fell. "Khal Drogo will be pleased."

Dany suppressed a snort.

He shook this off with difficulty and turned to face the horizon, his gaunt features tight. "Khal Drogo wishes for a son," he said impassively.

Dany went red.

"I can't do this."

Jorah bit his lips together.

Dany cleared her throat. "Y... you want my help?"

"Sort of. But he doesn't want to do it, he wants me to..." He shuddered. "I don't want to have to ask you this, but..."

Dany looked at him uneasily. "He wants you and me to—"

"Oh, no, not us," he said quickly. "No, he wants me and his... sister. To do it. He wants both our blood in it, and he thinks you're, well... no offense."

"None taken," she said with feeling.

He nodded swiftly.

"So what did you want my help with?"

His eyes flitted to the left painfully.

Daenerys followed his gaze and exclaimed aloud. "Seven hells take us all!" she yelled, stumbling backwards. "She's human?"

He nodded. "Blind me. Please."

Dany hesitated. Then she reached into her trouser pocket. "Put this around your eyes. Not in front of the khal, of course."

Jorah looked confused. "If you can manage the khal, surely a woman would be—"

Dany pointed at the woman in question more thoroughly.

"Oh gods, that one!? Well," he said shakily, "perhaps the princess's idea will suffice, khaleesi."

Viserys grimaced at the title.

"I have a question, Viserys, while you're here," Dany said as Jorah wandered off to find somewhere to sit down. "Now that the usurper is dead, I think it's time to strike King's Landing. They have a mere child in charge, and now that you and the khal are married—"

"He isn't convinced yet," Viserys said apologetically. "Give me more time. He'll come around."

She sighed. "But I'm bored, Viserys," she complained. "There's nothing for me here now that the khal has declined me. Let me go on ahead with Jorah, scope the place out."

"On your own? You're a child," he pointed out.

"I'm a dragon," she pointed out in turn. "All I need is the khalasar – half of it will do. His reputation means he hardly needs them all."

"I will speak to him, I promise. Persuade him it will be for his gain." He placed a finger beneath Dany's chin and lifted her face to his. "I do want this, you know," he reminded her. "This has just changed the timing a little. We will have Westeros, sister."

"I have an increasing feeling that if I were the one married to Khal Drogo, you would be the one rushing me."

"Not at all, sweet sister," he said in an injured voice.

She raised an eyebrow.

A horse halted beside them and Khal Drogo dismounted to meet them. "Khaleesi," he greeted in a low voice. It was their only common word – besides "no", which Viserys had been advised against using on pain of death.

Viserys gave him a nod.

"Greetings, Khal Drogo," Dany said in fluent Dothraki. "We have news from Westeros. King Robert Baratheon is dead."

He nodded, pleased. "When will you leave for Westeros?"

"We were hoping some of your khalasar could accompany me and Ser Jorah," she said opportunistically. "We should grasp our country now while it's vulnerable."

Khal Drogo thought about this and nodded. "Yes, this is a good idea. You shall have your men. I will tell my best ten men to be ready to guard you when you need them."

Dany grinned. "Thank you, Khal. You have been most helpful."

"What was that about?" Viserys asked sharply as the khal left. He was never any good as translating Dothraki, apart from a few of Khal Drogo's more _frequent_ phrases.

She bit her lip over her smile. "Me, Jorah and ten of the khal's best men are going to Westeros tomorrow. Do you have a plan for me?"

"Well, not as such, no." He frowned at Dany's expression. "What? You know this is hard for me, I can't speak the language, the people are laughing at me and I'm not exactly equipped to be a Khaleesi—"

"You seem to be well enough equipped for Khal Drogo," she said with a grin.

"That's not funny, Daenerys. Do not wake the dragon."

"The dragon was killed a week ago, Viserys, there's no chance of it awakening now. It's been scared out of you."

He grabbed her shirt sharply. "I understand you're impatient, Daenerys, but this is no way to converse with the future king of Westeros. The dragon is still very much alive, and the Baratheon brat will be the first to know... unless you want to precede him in that honour?"

She shook her head stiffly.

He thrust her backwards into a chest filled with wedding gifts, which toppled and spilled its contents into the dust. A fossilised dragon egg rolled out, unseen to all but Dany as she rose to her feet.

"I received a number of useful objects as wedding presents," he said, turning to leave. "Use what you can, sell what you need. And pray you haven't broken those dragon eggs, they're worth an entire army." He limped away, leaving her alone save for some indifferent passers-by.

Dany seethed quietly, kicking the fallen egg away and storming to her tent. She noticed Jorah's tent was empty and, after making sure he was deeply disturbed enough by Khal Drogo's sister not to notice, she crept inside.

To her disappointment, all the previous letters had been burned in a small stove in the corner. She rifled through the letters' remains until she found a scrap that had one legible line along the bottom edge.

_The king is grateful for your services. Varys._

She frowned, wondering who Varys was until the sound of footsteps interrupted her. She hid beneath a pile of dirty clothes as Jorah walked in, finally able to shake off the image of the khal's sister. He sat on his bed, his most recent letter in his hands, and read it slowly and deliberately aloud.

"_K-K-Kih-King Ba-arr-ah-th-theon_," he read falteringly, "_has duh-eye-ed of laa-ugg-huhter at the new-es of the Beggar Kinguh's marry-adg-eh. I luh-ook forward to mor-eh informa_, oh God, _infor-mat-ee-on on Deh_... whatever's _inten-tee-uns rega-er-ding Westeros._ _Yuh-or-es, Var, Var_... whatever."

Dany frowned, trying to decipher this. The king died of laughter and Varys looks forward to more information? She knew it.

She stayed put until Jorah had burned this letter with an air of contempt and she finally burst free from what was apparently his underwear in a previous life a moment after his departure. After reacquainting herself with fresh air, she walked out of the tent to find Viserys and stalked towards him.

"There is a traitor among us—" she began.

"Ah, Daenerys, I need a word with you about your appearance," he interrupted promptly.

"That's not important, I—what's wrong with my appearance?" she demanded suddenly.

"Oh, nothing, just for the trip to Westeros," he explained. "You'll need to dye your hair, you can't go around Westeros with silver hair, it will look suspicious. The old women here sometimes use this brown dye when their hair greys, a horrid mud colour but never mind, and you'll have to just not look at anyone, because there's not much we can do with purple eyes—"

"Fine, I'll do all that, just listen to me," she said impatiently, turning him to face her. "There is a spy among us. I've found letters, they've been burnt, but I can still read—"

"Might want to get a dress too," he mused, not listening to a thing she was saying. "Dothraki attire will probably look off as well."

"But there's a traitor among—oh sod it," she sighed, storming away, "you'll just have to die, then."

"I've also heard about this man in Winterfell who wants some dragon eggs for the Stark brat's wedding to the Usurper's kid. We can kill them and get the eggs back, so that shouldn't be a problem..."

Dany clenched her teeth at her brother's blathering and stormed off, her sight fixed on the horizon.

"Princess," an alarmed voice exclaimed, "mind your step, you're about to trip on—"

Her foot landed on the fallen dragon egg and it rolled her back and forth before delivering her face first into a small camp fire.

"Daenerys!" Viserys shouted in alarm, running to her aid. "Get your head out of the fire, Daenerys!"

Her head exploded into flames.

Viserys swore loudly. "Get her some water, quickly! NOOO, YOU IMBECILE, WATER! NOT WINE!"

The wine was dropped on Dany's head, which made the fire bigger until someone threw a bucket of water unceremoniously onto the flames.

"Dany," Viserys said worriedly, rolling the extinguished Daenerys onto her back. "Dany, you'll be alright, we'll find a healer, we..." He stared at her, wide-eyed.

Dany stared up at him, her face and hair sooty but unburnt. "I didn't feel a thing," she said in astonishment.


	4. Chains and Indecency

"Catelyn? What are you doing here? Has something happened to Bran?" Ned asked worriedly.

Her eyes narrowed. "You mean apart from being thrown from a tower window and paralysed from the waist down?" she asked testily. "No. He has not awoken yet, but I have discovered his attacker and made an arrest."

"Oh?" Cersei asked in interest.

"Oh, yes," a bitter voice said from behind Littlefinger. "And she wouldn't even wait for me to get dressed first."

Cersei and Ned looked around in bewilderment, then looked down.

Tyrion Lannister, aka the Imp, the Halfman and You, glared up at his sister in reproach, a chain hanging from his neck and wrists and his small form stooped in exhaustion – amidst the scant clothing upon his person, that is. And even his underwear was only half pulled up, leaving his backside revealed to all from the back.

"You," Cersei greeted him loathsomely.

"He did it?" Joffrey asked incredulously. "He can't even reach the windowsill!"

"Neither can you," Tyrion pointed out.

"Silence." Cersei turned to her little brother with a scowl. "And where were you? A brothel, I suppose?"

"Church, actually," he corrected drily. "I opted to honour the Seven with a new choice of attire."

"I thought they banned you the first time you did that?" Joffrey said curiously.

"Shut up, Joffrey. What is your evidence against my... brother?" she asked, using the word with reluctance.

"A man entered Bran's room and attacked us," said Catelyn levelly. "He bore a knife belonging to your brother. I bring him here before you to propose a bargain. Now that the king is dead, there is no reason to keep our children betrothed. None of us want them to marry, only Robert, and now he is dead, I see no reason to continue with this betrothal. I propose to exchange my daughters, Sansa and Arya, for your brother, and I will drop the charges against him in accordance with this."

"No deal."

"Why the bloody hell not?" Tyrion demanded.

"I don't like you."

"That's hardly fair," he said sulkily. "I'd tell Mother and Father if they weren't dead on the outside and inside respectively."

"Be quiet, You. I plan to take him to the Eyrie if you do not comply with my bargain," Catelyn continued.

"The Eyrie?" Tyrion asked in horror. "Not... Lysa Gimme-A-Straight-Jacket-Or-I'll-Open-The-Moon-Door Arryn's Eyrie?"

"My sister will execute him forthwith. Am I to assume that you want this outcome to result?"

"Well, I do not want to lose the girls," she replied sweetly. "I like to tie sailor knots in their hair when I'm bored."

"Tie your own mangy hair up, you dumb blonde—" Catelyn started.

"Cat," Ned warned. He turned to the queen. "Please excuse my wife, she is under extreme stress at the moment—"

"Don't be a kiss-ass, Fred, it isn't attractive," Tyrion interrupted.

"Compared to a short-ass, it rather is," Catelyn snapped. "And his name is Ned, or to you, Lord Stark, Imp."

"Well, that's Tyrion to you—"

"Shut up, the grownups are talking," Cersei said absently.

Tyrion scowled as Joffrey laughed.

"Tell you what," Cersei said to Catelyn sweetly. "You may have your little rat Arya free of charge. Her hair already has knots, she's no fun to play with. Sansa, on the other hand, shall marry Joffrey as planned. He has grown fond of her this past few months."

"My belt has, anyway," he muttered with a grin.

Ned held Catelyn back and pretended not to hear that.

"And what if we decide to steal our daughter back and run away?" Catelyn asked.

"Tyrion will send his man back to Bran's room in exchange for one last 'bargain'," she said with a grin. "He will comply."

"That as it may be," Tyrion conceded, "I never said it was _my_ man—"

"Silence, dwarf," Cersei snapped.

"Come, Catelyn," Ned ushered.

"Oh no, I'm going nowhere until I get Sansa," she said firmly. "You should never have let Sansa be betrothed into this horrid family. You have too much honour for your own good, Ned Stark."

"Do you always let your wife nag you so?" Joffrey asked Ned mockingly.

"She's always like this," he said miserably. "It's no fun being Lord of Winterfell with her around. Once, she let all the boys outside to play snowmen, and wouldn't let me go out so I had to stay inside with her and sign forms all day. Kept telling me I had a cold, but I _didn't_—"

"Shut up," Cersei snapped. "Now I suggest you run back to your snowmen, Starks, and don't forget your little dog on your way out. And the direwolf, too," she added spitefully.

"But Sansa—" Catelyn said despairingly.

"Best you forget about her until she is crowned queen," Cersei said pleasantly. "You won't be seeing her until then. At least."

Catelyn's mouth twisted and she spun to leave, dragging Tyrion behind her as Ned followed in her wake with his tail between his legs. Just before leaving, she turned back to the queen and pointed a finger at her and Joffrey. "You Lannisters will pay for this," she threatened on her way out.

"I already am paying for this," Tyrion gasped, dropping to his knees and mooning the king and queen in the process. "My feet are _dying_."

Cersei rolled her eyes as Catelyn dragged him out on his knees. As their footsteps and knee-scrapes receded, Jaime entered the hall in bemusement. "Is that Tyrion?" he asked incredulously.

Cersei's expression softened. Jaime strolled to the throne nonchalantly, his armour gleaming and his hair rustling in his wake. She stared at her brother in a daze, and didn't stop staring even as Joffrey waved a hand in front of his mother's face.

"Why is our younger brother being dragged by the Starks across the whole castle?" Jaime persisted.

When it looked like Cersei would be staring at him all day, Joffrey replied, "The Stark woman accused him of pushing her brat out of that tower and paralysing him. They're taking him to the Eyrie."

"The Eyrie?" Jaime asked in horror. "But Lysa Arryn... she's a madwoman. I wouldn't go near her with a double edged blade. With _three_ double edged blades and a sword arm for _each_."

"And that's our problem... how?" Joffrey asked testily. "We don't want the little sod. She can do what she likes with him."

"Beg pardon, my liege, but I rather like my brother, despite his stunted growth," he said coldly. "And besides the matter of his height, he is still a Lannister. Cersei, allow me to follow him to the Eyrie and recover him before that lunatic gets her hands on him."

Cersei said nothing, her mind elsewhere – approximately three feet from Jaime's face, to be precise.

"Cersei?" Jaime asked impatiently.

Joffrey waved a hand in front of her face and she blinked. "Yes, of course, whatever you say," she said distantly.

"But Mother, we have better things to worry about than that idiot brother of yours!" Joffrey snapped. "He's a member of my Kingsguard, we need him here!"

Her mind was gone again and as she giggled softly to herself, Joffrey shrugged and gave a sigh. "What of my grandfather? Can't he rescue him?"

"You sent for him to relieve Lord Stark of his duties as Hand," Jaime replied. "He will only be setting off now. Lysa Arryn will have eaten him by time he got there."

Joffrey sighed heavily. "Oh, alright," he said reluctantly, waving his hand at him. "Go on and rescue him."

"Thank you, my king," he said with a bow.

"On one condition."

Jaime looked up half-heartedly.

"That you bring him to me in this hat," he continued, and he held up a jester's cap.

"Anything else you want him to wear upon his return?" Jaime asked dully.

"Just that lovely outfit he arrived here with will do," Joffrey said evilly.


	5. Three Eggs, Three Deaths and the Wall

The ship lurched across plain waters as Dany stared out at her first glance at Westeros. It had been a long time since she had landed face first into the Dothraki campfire and survived unscathed, but she had finally arrived.

All in all, the journey had been a pleasant one. Jorah had agreed to come along with her as an escort as long as he could remain out of sight: apparently his face was well known in Westeros, meaning he could stay right where Dany could keep an eye on him. Viserys had packed a heavy supply of Dothraki hair dye, which actually looked better on her than her natural silver, and she'd convinced him into staying behind until she sent for him on condition that she kept away from any bonfires, which she agreed... for now. And she had three boyfriends, which Viserys wasn't going to know about.

Now her boyfriends were surrounding her as she stared out onto the lands of the north, where she would meet a friend of Jorah's who would buy Viserys's dragon eggs, hopefully at a high price.

"The Wall, is it?" she said dubiously, glancing at a map as Dorean pointed out the keep of the Night's Watch. "And what's this friend called?"

"Lord Commander Mormont of the Night's Watch," replied Irrin.

"Mormont? As in—"

"Jorah, yes," answered Jhiquan.

"Huh," she mused.

"It might be dangerous for you to go there, my lady," Irrin warned. "The Night's Watch, well, they're..."

"What?"

"They're made up of all the criminals and bastards of Westeros," Jhiquan explained. "They all take a vow to join the Night's Watch, cut themselves off from their families and never lay with a woman..."

"Oh."

"They might have trouble holding back."

"I can look after myself," she reassured them. "I have three egg-shaped rocks to throw at them if they try. Plus I can set the whole building on fire and survive."

"Do you want us to follow you nevertheless?" Dorean asked.

Dany thought about it. "I am very fond of you all, I confess. But I don't want you being tempted into joining the Watch if you do."

"Oh, no, no, no, no," they said emphatically, shaking their heads.

She smiled as the ship travelled through the Bay of Seals towards Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.

On the Wall, Jon Snow stood outside the entrance, squinting pensively into the afternoon mist. A woman was coming. This did not bode well.

How could it bode well? It was the Night's Watch, for trees' sake. A society built from the dangerous and destitute of Westeros, a society featuring thieves, murderers, rapists and bastards of the unpleasant persuasion as well as illegitimate. This daughter of Jorah Mormont would be leaving minus a virginity, if she was lucky.

An echo in the ice under his feet informed Jon of Sam's arrival as the eldest and widest of the Tarly children waddled towards him. "Any sign of her yet?"

"Nope," he replied tiredly. "No sign of Jorah Mormont, either."

"Oh, don't be like that," Sam said brightly. "It's a woman! We'll finally be able to look at a woman again! I wonder if they'll put her in the room next to mine. Because there's this hole in the wall in the corner where I can just about see—"

"Stop right there," Jon said painfully.

The wind whistled through Jon's ears as Sam said, "So what d'you reckon the Bear wants with those dragon eggs anyway? Wouldn't be very easy maintaining the Wall if you have a fire breathing dragon flying around the place."

"They won't be able to hatch them, they're fossilised," Jon informed him. "You read books, surely you know that?"

"Yes, but haven't you heard? They belonged to a Targaryen. They could have made them fertile to sell to the Lord Commander as a defense weapon."

"I don't think so, like you said, it would melt the Wall," Jon pointed out. "I think he just wants to sell them. Fossilised dragon eggs are worth a lot of money. You could buy a whole army with just one of them."

"I know, and there are three," Sam said excitedly. "I wonder if I could get the Lord Commander to lend me one. I could experiment with it to see if I can hatch it for real. I bet someone has written how to do it."

"If someone had written how to do it, don't you think there would be dragons around the place?" he asked testily.

"What if they had written how to do it, but were too scared to go ahead with the experiment?" Sam asked just as testily.

"And you're brave enough to do what they chickened out of, are you?"

His face fell. "No, I suppose not. But I could at least see—"

"Look sharp," Jon said suddenly, pointing ahead. "They've arrived."

Sure enough, a small party of people were approaching from the distance on horseback. Sam waddled away to alert the Commander as Jon stared out at their approaching visitors with unease. Despite his fears, he wondered idly what the woman looked like.

A couple of hours later, supper was being served in the great hall of the keep in honour of the Watch's new visitors: Jorah Mormont, his three squires, Dorean, Irrin and Jhiquan, and his bastard daughter, Dalie – ie, Dany. She sat on Jorah's right as he conversed with the Lord Commander and ate ravenously as the Watch roared around her.

"How many eggs have you brought me, then?" Lord Commander Mormont asked curiously, eyeing the bag set on the table in front of them.

"Three," Jorah replied. "Should be enough to get you more volunteers for your... problem."

"Aye, it will have to be what with the Baratheon boy slaughtering every suitable candidate in the Seven Kingdoms," he sighed, opening the bag. "They will be a perfect gift to the little king in exchange for some men. Provided they haven't been killed yet, that is." He peered into the bag and frowned. "Three, is it?" he asked dubiously. "I see your counting has improved along with your reading."

Dany eyed the eggs sulkily – her eggs, technically, even if it had been Viserys who had married in the end instead of her. "J—Father," she corrected, "I am tired from our journey. May I be excused for some rest?"

"Of course, daughter," Jorah said kindly.

"Allow one of my men to show you to your quarters," said the Lord Commander. "Snow! Show Dalie to her quarters. That's the room next to Tarly's."

"Yes!" hissed Sam, pulling his fist down in triumph.

A black haired youth rose from his seat to accompany Daenerys as she followed him to her new rooms. He was very sullen-looking, she noticed_. Must be taking this celibacy notion badly_, she mused.

He led her to a tower outside the keep and Dany feebly attempted conversation as the trudged upstairs.

"What's it like, being in the Night's Watch? Do you sleep in furs, or what?"

He said nothing.

Dany sighed. "You're not very talkative, are you?"

"I apologize, princess," he snapped. "I just don't feel like conversation these days what with having to parade a woman around the place when there's whitewalkers about."

Dany froze. "Princess?"

Jon turned to her irritably. "What?"

"Why did you just call me princess?"

He shrugged. "That's what you carry yourself like. A princess."

She still didn't relax as he opened the door to her room for her. She wasn't sure if he was simply mocking her or eluding to something.

"Make yourself comfortable," Jon said coldly. "Sam will be up to check you're comfortable, I expect." He left sullenly.

Dany watched him leave before examining her room carefully. It was cosy, with a soft bed in the middle and a lit fireplace to one side, giving off a warm glow. As she expected, she found a hole in the wall in one corner and quickly stuffed it with an old sock as a knock came to the door.

"Miss?" the voice of who was supposedly Sam asked timidly. "Just checking you're comfortable."

"I am, yes, thank you," she said brightly, scrambling out of the corner.

Sam looked uncertain as he glanced half-heartedly at the corner. "Well, just wanted to let you know that I'm right next door if you need anything, extra blankets, food—"

"Yes, you're very kind, thank you," she said warmly.

Sam nodded with a nervous smile and finally left. "If you need anything—"

"I won't!" she said cheerfully as she shut the door behind him and turned away with a grimace. _Right next door, you say? I bet you are._

She brought her rucksack to her bed and opened it to reveal one of the dragon eggs – the black one. She glanced behind her for fear of Jorah catching her and, carefully, she set the egg into the fireplace.

Jorah was planning to have her killed. On this she was certain. Viserys had no idea about any of this – his worries about his own predicament were evidently more important than a threat to their lives. Dany had his plans worked out – he was trading the eggs to the Bear to barter passage to King's Landing and take her to this Varys. That was unfortunate... for Jorah.

Now he would have to pay.

She watched the egg cook patiently as dusk fell outside the window. Then she got impatient and started yelling at it.

"Hurry up and cook! I want my dragon now! I am of dragons' blood, I want my—"

"Daenerys?"

Dany bolted upright.

"What's going on?" Jorah asked from outside. "Who are you yelling at?"

"Nobody!" Dany snatched the egg from the fireplace and threw it under the bed hastily as Jorah entered, holding the bag with the remaining two eggs. "Everything alright?" she asked sweetly with a smile.

Jorah looked at her dubiously. "There's an egg missing," he commented casually, looking around. "Have you seen it anywhere?"

"No I haven't, why would I have, I have seen no eggs anywhere, go away and look for them!" she yelled suddenly.

"Yes, alright, no need to yell at me," Jorah said in an injured voice as Dany's boyfriends gathered inside the door to see what the commotion was about. "I just wondered if you'd seen... is that smoke?"

Dany turned around.

A flame curled around the bed covers and a cloud of smoke blew in Dany's face.

"Fire!" exclaimed the boyfriends.

Jon Snow rushed in with a bucket of water and tried to put it out, but the fire was billowing up the wall beside the bed. The boyfriends rushed to move Dany out of the way as the flames reached Dany's rucksack.

"Oh no, my wine!" she cried.

Meanwhile, Sam crouched in the corner of his room next door and peered into the hole, which was now emitting a steady stream of smoke. _Talk about hot, there's literally smoke coming from her room! _Sam thought excitedly before singeing his eyebrows with a shriek.

The rucksack exploded.

Dany and her boyfriends were thrown to the opposite wall, and Jon rushed over with the bucket of water. The three men writhed on the floor as Jorah dropped the bag of eggs to run to their aid, and the eggs rolled into the flames as Dany patted herself down hurriedly.

"You're not burning," Jon said in astonishment as she rose to her feet.

"They are!" she snapped. "Put them out!"

It was too late.

Jorah smothered the flames around the three with a blanket and stood back mournfully as Dany stood over their ruined corpses. "They're not breathing," she said quickly. "We need to get them out—"

Jon grabbed her and Jorah by one arm each and pulled them out of the room as the fire exploded again. Sam arrived to help and they were bemused to find him with his eyebrows on fire.

"How—?" Jon began to ask.

"Not now," Dany said suddenly, pointing in the door. "We have to save them."

"But princess," Jorah began.

She ran inside.

"Princess!" Jorah yelled, cowering away from the flames.

Watchmen began to fill the hall steadily as the fire raged in Dany's room. There was no sign of her. The watchmen held Jorah back until the fire subsided enough for them to peer inside.

Dany was standing in the middle of the room, wrapped in the remains of the sooty blanket. Her hair was ablaze, but intact. Two small creatures were sitting on her shoulders and another on top of her head.

Dany turned her gaze from face to face, her face impassive. "They're dead," she said simply. "Their demise is the biggest hurt I have ever felt." Just then she grinned from ear to ear. "On the other hand, I got dragons. So not too shabby, eh?"

Jon gazed at her in shock. "You hatched the dragon eggs," he said in horror. "They're worthless now!"

"Not so," Jorah said slowly. "They're the most valuable things in the world."

The three baby dragons, one black, one green and one cream, shrieked in unison, digging their claws into Dany's shoulders. She seemed not to notice.

"Can I have one?" Sam asked opportunistically.


	6. Not Today - Mwa hah hah hah!

Meanwhile, in the Eyrie:

"Mwa ha-hah hah hah hah!" Lysa Arryn laughed manically. "Bwa hah hah hah hah hah!"

Tyrion listened to the madwoman through the main hall entrance in horror. "Please kill me now," he begged Catelyn. "Get it over with."

Catelyn ignored him and swung the doors open.

Lysa sat in the decorated throne at the head of the hall, her son Robin in her lap. "Mwa hah hah hah!" she read from the children's book in her son's hands.

Tyrion still wasn't relieved.

Lysa raised her gaunt face from the book and narrowed her eyes at her sister. "Catelyn," she greeted coldly. "What brings you here?"

"I have a prisoner for you," she replied, indicating in Tyrion's direction. "Your husband's killer."

Lysa's eyes scanned the room behind her elder sister until they found Tyrion shivering just behind Catelyn, still scarcely dressed. She pursed her lips in distaste.

"Can't it wait until she's finished the story?" whined Robin. "She's nearly on the good bit."

"Don't worry, sweetrobin," she said reassuringly, stroking his hair. "This won't take long." She slid from underneath her son and rose to her feet, glaring at Tyrion. "A Lannister," she spat. "I knew it. Only a Lannister would stoop to cold-blooded murder."

"I am only half Lannister, though," he pointed out.

"You're only half of anything at all," Robin said in reply.

"Exactly my point."

"Quiet," Catelyn ordered. "Lysa, I brought him here to bring to justice. As he slaughtered your husband, it should be your honour to punish him as you see fit."

"Open the Moon Door!" she ordered immediately.

Robin bounced in his seat excitedly. "Yay!"

"Yay," Tyrion echoed unenthusiastically.

"Uh, no, not the Moon Door," Catelyn interrupted.

Robin's face fell and Lysa sighed heavily, folding her arms.

"His siblings have my daughters Arya and Sansa," she continued. "Cersei will not trade for them, but maybe her twin Jaime will think differently."

"Hold on," Tyrion interrupted, raising a shackled hand. "My sister allowed you to retrieve Arya, if I'm not mistaken."

"Well, she did," Catelyn conceded, "but Ned retrieved a boy from the streets by mistake and we realised too late. Anyway, if Jaime does not make an appearance in three months, then we can kill him—er, bring justice to your husband's death."

Lysa sighed heavily. "You bring my husband's murderer here before me and you forbid me from executing him?"

"She always does this," Ned said miserably from behind his wife. "Did I tell you about the time the boys were building snowmen and—"

"Yes, about fifty times, Lord Stark," Lysa said tiredly.

"Your defenses are more advanced then that of Winterfell," she informed her sister calmly. "He is more intelligent than he looks; we cannot risk keeping him in Winterfell. And Bran is there..."

Lysa looked at her son in empathy. "I still want to throw him into the Moon Door."

"No Moon Door," she said sternly.

Lysa gave a huff and stomped her foot on the ground. "You can't boss me around, Cat—"

"Yes I can. I'm older, prettier and I have more children than you, now lock him into one of the sky cells."

"But it's my castle!" she wailed.

"Don't care."

"I'll eat you," Lysa threatened.

"This is getting silly," Tyrion said with a sigh. "If we just return to King's Landing—"

"No," Catelyn said firmly.

"She's right, you are bossy," Tyrion said accusingly.

Catelyn gritted her teeth. "If you don't shut up, I'll have you thrown into the Moon Door."

"No you won't, what about your daughters?" Lysa asked testily.

"We'll swap him for another dwarf. One that's less gobby."

"Can we kill him, then?" Robin asked eagerly.

"No—" began Tyrion.

"Yes!"

The doors swung open.

"No," Jaime said.

"Silent as a shadow."

_Silent as a shadow_, Arya agreed, sneaking around Syrio. _Silent as a—SHIT!_

Syrio's sword whipped around and caught the back of her thighs, knocking her onto her back.

"You are dead," he said lightly, almost cheerfully.

"Thank the gods," Arya said sullenly, sitting up and folding her arms. "Maybe then you'll bugger off."

Syrio tapped her on the head with the wooden sword, making her yell out. "There is only one god," he reminded her. "The god of Death. And what do we say to Death?"

"Take that one," she replied, pointing at him.

He paused. "Not bad." He hit her on the head again. "But the wrong answer."

Arya rose to her feet as five palace guards approached. They stopped in front of the two and split apart to reveal King Joffrey, wearing his usual haughty smirk.

"Ah, Lady Arya," he said patronisingly, eyeing her boyish attire with his nose wrinkled. "I've been looking for you. My new queen requires a new hand maid – her old one walked into a crossbow quarrel by mistake. I was thinking you would make a lovely replacement."

"Me?" Arya asked in bemusement.

"Yes," he said in earnest. "Of course, we'll have to train you up first – your hairbrushing skills have fallen by the wayside of late, and we'll have to have a nice uniform made for you, but no matter. Oh, and you'll have to give up the sword fighting. We can't have the queen's handmaiden prodding people with sharp metal objects, can we?"

Arya scowled. What do we say to Death? King's Landing. Joffrey's in there – go _fetch_.

"As for you," Joffrey continued, turning his gaze to Syrio Forel, "you shall now be my training master. As fond as I am of crossbows, I must learn to use a sword sometime."

"As you command, your grace," he replied, bowing his head, "but one question – what do we say to Death?"

Joffrey blinked. "Well, I am the king—"

Syrio hit him on the head with the tip of his sword.

"Wrong answer," he said lightly.

Arya grinned.

"How dare you!" Joffrey snapped, his face screwed up in fury. " I am the king—"

"Wrong answer again!" he said again, hitting him again. "What do we say to Death?" He turned his wooden weapon on Arya.

"Not today," she replied with a grin.

"Not today," he agreed, shiething his sword and facing the king with a faint smile. "I shall teach you all I know, your grace, but this you must first learn."

Joffrey scowled at him in hatred and Arya grinned again, handing him her own wooden sword.

"Go to Lady Sansa," he snapped, rubbing his head. "And pray I don't see you again today."

Arya bowed with a barely suppressed smirk and walked to Sansa's quarters, not before eavedropping on the next exchange between the king and her former swords master.

"You propose to hit me deliberately again," Joffrey snarled, "and I will make sure the last sword you see is a real one in your mouth."

Arya snorted ot herself as she walked away. _I'd like to see him try_. She went to find her sister.

Sansa was in her bedroom, sitting in front of her mirror and obscuring Arya's view of her face as she entered the room and shut the door behind her firmly.

"What do you want, Arya?" Sansa asked loathsomely.

"Nice to see you too, sister," she greeted her sourly, hopping onto her bed. "Apparently I'm your new handmaiden, if that idiot Joffrey is to be believed. Why do you like him anyway? He's a worm in gold trimmed clothing."

"I don't like him," Sansa said in a monotone.

"I know, you love him." She rolled her eyes at this folly. _Love_. Hah! "I hope Father comes back from the Eyrie soon. Then he can take us home. Syrio might come with us," she said brightly. "He won't be able to teach Joffrey, he'd have better luck teaching a snake how to sew."

"I don't care, Arya," Sansa said thickly.

It took Arya a moment to figure out that her sister was crying. "What's wrong with you?" she asked in distaste. "Is it because I'm replacing your handmaid? Because she was stupid anyway—"

Sansa turned to face her and Arya's expression darkened.

The left side of her face was a tapestry of bruises.


	7. Brotherly Love

Viserys limped into the daylight, his face a portrait of agony.

Khal Drogo appeared from amidst a group of men and stood before his Khaleesi, who dropped his head on the Khal's shoulder and wept.

"That bad?" he asked in his broken Common Tongue.

"Yes," he whimpered.

"Try again tomorrow?"

"I suppose so," Viserys said miserably.

Drogo patted Viserys's head and walked away to tend to his horse. Viserys wiped his nose with a sniff as a raven arrived on his shoulder, bearing a letter.

_Must be for Jorah,_ he thought, relieving the bird of its burden. He missed Daenerys. He didn't know why, she was a brat most of the time, but he just did. _She'd better not have been throwing herself into more fires, _he thought.

He unrolled the letter and, after carefully avoiding the path of his torturous sister-in-law, he scanned its contents carefully.

He froze_. Varys._ He recognised that name.

_Bring her to Winterfell. I will be there to meet you. Don't forget the dragon eggs: I have a little experiment for those._

Viserys paused.

"_Khal Drogo!"_ he shouted.

Jaime paced around the main hall of the Eyrie, his hands behind his back. Tyrion watched him in relief: his sword in particular. He loved Jaime's sword. It was like a big brother to him.

"So what has my little brother done this time?" Jaime asked coldly, circling the Starks to face Lysa and Robin.

"He murdered my husband, primarily," she replied coldly. "And on a lesser note, he crippled Catelyn's son."

"Lesser note," muttered Catelyn reproachfully. "The man was as old as the hills anyway—"

"Did he?" Jaime interrupted in interest. "How did he manage that? The Stark boys are twice his height at least."

"Now I'm not an expert, but I would call that evidence," Tyrion pointed out.

"Silence, You," Lysa snapped. She turned her gaze to Jaime. "I suppose you're here to rescue him?"

"No, I'm just here to give him some clothes and a bite to eat," Jaime said sarcastically. "It can get cold up in those sky cells, and he'll go hungry."

"I wouldn't waste your food on that," Catelyn sniped at him. "Your sister wasn't so fussed about his wellbeing. She might not approve of you feeding an unwanted prisoner. You are just the queen's lapdog, aren't you?"

"Like Lord Stark is yours?" he retorted testily.

"No, lapdogs don't get told where to pee," Ned said sullenly.

Jaime laughed aloud at that.

"Go outside, Ned," Catelyn ordered.

"But it's cold out there—"

"Now!"

Ned gave a huff and left the room.

"And don't drag your feet like that!"

Ned sighed and lifted his knees emphatically as he walked out.

Jaime snickered. "I like him actually."

"So do I. Can we leave now?" Tyrion said boredly.

"Yes, of course," Lysa said sweetly, and she opened the Moon Door.

The ground beneath Jaime's feet began to shift and he quickly leapt out of the way as the centre of the room opened into the Moon Door: a gaping hole into misty oblivion.

"There are crimes to be answered for," Lysa continued snidely. "I suggest we let the new lord of the Eyrie decide the Lannister's fate."

"Can Jaime do a sword fight?" Robin asked, star struck. "I'm a huge fan."

Lysa dropped her head on her hand as Tyrion nodded emphatically. "Trial by combat. I like it. Who shall he fight?"

"Lord Stark," Lysa said decisively.

"No," Catelyn said sharply.

Lysa groaned.

"How about Catelyn?" Jaime asked amusedly. "She looks game for a thrashing."

"Yes, why not?" Lysa said evilly.

"No, she's boring," Robin said indifferently. "I want him to fight... Mummy."

Lysa gulped. "Why, sweetrobin?"

"Because if you lose, I can have Jaime as my new daddy," he said admirably.

Jaime smiled at the boy almost affectionately.

Catelyn smiled nefariously at Jaime. "He still breastfeeds, you know."

Jaime's smile melted from his face.

"Why don't we settle for a fight to the surrender?" Tyrion said uncomfortably. "The prospect of breastfeeding isn't much of an incentive to win."

"Oh, alright then," Robin said reluctantly. "So long as I get an autograph afterward. And Mummy gives me a frame to put it in."

"Yes, sweetrobin," she said gently, rolling her eyes.

Jaime smirked and laid a hand on his sword.

Only for Lysa to leap over the Moon Door.

"AAH!" screamed Jaime as Lysa landed on him, grabbing his arms and wrapping them around his head.

"She's a barbarian," Tyrion said in horror.

"That's why our mother died in childbirth," Catelyn informed him.

Jaime gasped as Lysa strangled him with his own arms, winding them around his neck like a bizarre neck scarf. His armour scraping piercingly and his legs flailing behind him, he squealed in pain and confusion as Lysa sat on his back and pulled his arms tighter.

"Surrender?" she snarled.

"I'd rather lose my sword hand," he snarled back.

"That can be arranged," she replied, and proceeded to bite Jaime's hand off.

Tyrion grimaced in sympathy as Robin jumped up and down in his seat excitedly.

"That's the left one, you mad cow!" Jaime shrieked.

"You'd love me to believe that, wouldn't you?" Lysa snarled, continuing to gnaw Jaime's left hand off.

"She's not very good with her lefts and rights," Catelyn said in reply to Tyrion's frown of bemusement.

"I see that," he said slowly.

Robin shrieked hysterically with laughter.

Jaime saw his opportunity and gasped theatrically insofar as he could with his own arms wrapped around his throat. "Your son! He's dying! Hear him screaming?"

Lysa gasped loudly and turned to face her son – only for Jaime to shove her out of the Moon Door.

Robin's screams turned to terror as Lysa tumbled towards the mist and just managed to grab the edge of the Moon Door as Jaime rose to his feet, cradling his shoulders.

"Surrender?" Jaime asked, holding his foot over the hand that gripped the door.

"Not bloody likely," Lysa snarled.

Jaime raised his foot.

"STOP!"

Everyone turned to the door.

"Let the Lannisters go," Ned said, breathing heavily.

"But what about—" Catelyn demanded.

"I have a new way of getting the girls back," Ned said triumphantly, and he stood away from the door.

Jon Snow stood in the doorway, a tiny black dragon in his hands.

Jorah searched the skies anxiously.

"I wondered when you would get here."

Jorah jumped and turned to face Varys. "How long have you been here?"

"Since I sent a raven to Vaes Dothrak," Varys replied, his hands behind his back and his bald head reddening in the cold. "That was less than two days ago. Why didn't you inform me that you had left early?"

"It was an instantaneous decision from Daenerys," he said apologetically. "I had no time to send a raven."

Varys narrowed his eyes. "And where is she now?"

"In the godswood, answering a call of nature."

Varys frowned. "In the godswood? Is that wise?"

"She claimed that's what the gods made it for. It's a luxury compared to Vaes Dothrak."

"That I can imagine." He jumped at the sound of a dragon shrieking from the godswood. "The rumours are true, then."

"Aye," Jorah said darkly. "The dragons have returned."

"You did try to keep them away from her, didn't you?"

"I could hardly do that, they were supposed to be her wedding present," Jorah said in an injured voice. "I don't know why everyone's blaming me, I didn't set them on fire."

Varys gave him a disapproving glance.

Meanwhile, in the godswood, Sam was hovering sheepishly by a tree as Daenerys hid behind it, her skirts around her waist.

"So," Sam began, "what will you name the dragons? Will you name them after the sacrifices you made to birth them?"

"No, I've forgotten their names. I think I'll name them after my brothers," she decided. "And Khal Drogo. Viserys will like that."

"Yes, I suppose he will." Sam paused. "How is he?"

"He's fine now... unless he's begun making their child with Drogo's sister. In which case, he's probably dead."

Sam laughed for a bit until he realised that she was serious.

"So, the dragons are Viserys—"

"Viserion," she corrected. "To avoid confusion."

"Right... Drogon?"

"Yes," she replied.

"And Rhaegon—"

"Hrrghnnn!"

"Your other brother was called Hrrghnnn?" Sam asked uncertainly.

"No, that was me taking a – I mean, yes, Rhaegon, yes," she said hurriedly.

"Oh, I see." He paused carefully. "So where is Jon with..."

"Drogon? He's gone to the Eyrie, to find his father," she replied, pulling up her breeches and dropping her skirts as she stood up. "Robb Stark informed us that he was accompanying his wife to imprison a Lannister at the Arryn household."

"Arryn? You don't mean..." He shuddered.

"Mmm," she agreed, emerging from behind the tree.

Suddenly they heard a shriek from the dragon cage. Dany frowned and knelt by the cage to peer inside. "They miss their brother," she observed. "And they're hungry."

"You can read their minds?" Sam asked incredulously.

"No, they're trying to eat each other and they want to see if eating Drogon might be easier to swallow. You'd better find them some food before they half each other."

San nodded eagerly and waddled off to find some meat.

"What is it?" she asked impatiently.

"Jorah," Sam said anxiously. "I've just overheard him talking about you to a bald man. He says he's taking you to King's Landing."

Dany gulped. "What do I do? I'd set a fire, but I used up my matches on the eggs."

Sam glanced at Winterfell. "We have to get into Winterfell."


End file.
